Beauty and the Beast
by HealthyShadeOfGreen
Summary: "Papa. I have come to believe that these summons to the palace to meet this strange creature, might be the beginning of my life, not the end of it, as I had feared." Based on the Royal Shakespeare Company's 2003 stageplay version of the epic tale of love.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is not the Disney La-Di-Da singy version. Don't get me wrong that's a fine version, but I'm just warning you this is not that!

This is the Royal Shakespeare Company version (written by Laurence Boswell), which my school did for our Fall Play (I was Beauty!). It's a lot closer to the original story. I'm sorta working off the script, which I do not own, but I do own the parts which aren't from the script. As if that doesn't confuse you.

* * *

**_Prologue_**

Long ago in a city far away, there lived a merchant who was so successful in all his business speculations that he grew enormously rich. Which was handy, because he had six children – three boys and three girls – and a staff of twenty-seven!

The merchant's eldest son, Andre, was incredibly intelligent, although he had a bad habit of staying up so late reading he'd often fall asleep right were he stood. He spent hours in the library with his head in the books, his latest obsession being astronomy.

The merchant's second son, Phillipe, loved all kinds of sport. His clothes were untidy and his knees were constantly grazed. He could never sit still.

The merchant's youngest son, Emile, was dreadfully indulged by his mother. He could often get away with many pranks because of that.

The merchant loved his sons, but his pride and joy were his daughters. The eldest girl, Veronique, believed herself to be charming and graceful, gifted as a cellist, and as smart as her older brother, Andre. The truth was that she wasn't as charming as she believed, couldn't carry a tune, and copied Andre's homework whenever she could.

The merchant's second daughter, Marie-Clare, was rather. . . different from her older sister. . . perhaps, less interested in her studies. She was rather boring and her mind was full of wedding dresses and pink ponies, romantic heroes and high status husbands. The twin passions of her life were fashion and cosmetics and her greatest talent (or so she thought) was dancing.

The eldest girls were either the best of friends, or the worst of enemies. If the eldest girls could never agree on anything for very long, there was one thing which united them always and forever. And that was the birth of the merchant's sixth child.

Even as a tiny baby, she seemed wise and confident. The merchant and his wife could find a name for her at first but then. . .

"Que. . . le monde. . . est. . . beau. . ." The child's very first words.

"How. . . beautiful. . . is this world. . ."

The merchant and his wife decided to call their daughter Beauty. His other children were incredulous.

"Parents!" grumbled Andre.

"Think of the implications!" muttered Phillipe.

"I've looked this up in a very large book, Papa, and Beauty is simply not a proper name!" shrieked Veronique. The girls had thought up a new name for the small thing that stole their parents attention.

"She should be called. . . crying blob!" Marie-Clare cackled.

"Yes, yes, crying, smelly, vomiting blob! From hell!" stated Veronique, "Couldn't we just send her back, now, Papa? Or have her adopted?"

The boys soon fell in love with their little sister, but the eldest girls could never quite forgive Beauty for coming into the world. But Beauty took it all in her stride. In fact, she was so self-contained and so modest that is was sometimes hard to believe that she was related to her siblings.

The boys worshipped their father. They listened in wonder to his tales of dangerous and distant lands where he traded spices, silks and precious stones. The eldest girls enjoyed a glamorous and glittering lifestyle, regularly attending gala evenings at the opera, the ballet, and the theatre. They entertained themselves with thoughts of marrying high into the world.

The family lived in a beautiful and expensive house in the fashionable and exclusive heart of Paris. The house had been especially designed for the merchant. It was the envy of all his business partners. It had eight bedrooms, and a staff of thirty-six. A ballroom, a stable, extensive servants' quarters, and a live in ballet master for Marie-Clare. But despite its size (twelve bedrooms, over four floors, and with a staff of forty-five), the eldest girls were always complaining. But despite the little frustrations and difficulties, the family was happy.

But the years ran like water through their fingers. The children grew up so quickly; everyday seemed to be somebody's birthday.

The 7th of May brought about Beauty's fifth birthday. The party was lavish and expensive, with many fun, games, and gifts.

The 7th of May. The day the merchant's wife died, leaving the family broken and distraught.

The merchant threw himself into his work. He spent recklessly, invested foolishly. He made dubious deals with dishonest partners.

But the merchant's business collapsed. Storms sunk his ships, and dishonest partners ran away taking all that was left of the merchant's fortune. And then, suddenly, their beautiful house, school reports, ballets slippers, toys, all burnt down to the ground.

All that was left of the merchant's empire was a derelict farmhouse, and assorted livestock in the country. The eldest girls were horrified at the prospect of living in such an isolated spot, horrified at the prospect of slugs, snakes, and provincial people.

But it was final. They were going to the country.

* * *

A/N: So that's the start of Beauty and the Beast, introducing you to Beauty and her family. The rest will be in Beauty's POV.

In case you were wondering, here are all the siblings again, with the age differences: Andre (oldest), Veronique (a year younger than Andre), Phillipe (two years younger than Veronique), Marie-Clare (one year younger than Phillipe), Emile (three years younger than Marie-Clare), and Beauty (four years younger than Emile). And the parents' names are Jean-Louis and Helene.

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	2. Fall From Grace

A/N: So this is before the fire in their home, and before they have to leave Paris to go to the country. Beauty is seven, which makes Emile 11, Marie-Clare 14, Phillipe 15, Veronique 17, and Andre 18.

They know they must leave soon, but they don't want to yet.

~HealthyShadeOfGreen

* * *

**_Fall From Grace_**

Papa came in from his study and lay on the couch very still. I knelt beside him.

"Papa?" He didn't move. I stroked his hair, trying to comfort him. I thought of calling for a tea until I remembered we'd let the servants go. All of a sudden we heard a screech from upstairs and thundering down the stairs coming to the drawing room, where Papa and I were. It was Veronique, with Phillipe and Marie-Clare in tow. Marie-Clare looked distressed, and Phillipe looked amused.

Veronique stormed over to us, very red in the face. "Papa, this rural folly is simply out of the question! Our dear, dear friends at court would be simply suicidal at the prospect, you go if you must, but Marie-Clare and myself and staying put!"

"What she said!" Marie-Clare chimed in.

Papa still didn't move. Andre strode in with Emile to see what the commotion was. Emile stepped forward.

"What's wrong with Papa?"

Marie-Clare made a face. "He's sulking!"

I could feel my own face grow warm. "He's grieving!

"Feeling sorry for himself!"

"His heart's broken!"

"Papa!" my brothers cried out. Papa was still unresponsive.

Emile sank into a vacant chair. "There's no one to look after us. . ."

"Look," said Veronique, "He made some stupid business decisions and now he's bankrupt and he thinks he can just bury his head in the sand! Well, it's not good enough, because let's face it, who's actually going to suffer for all this at the end of the day?"

"Veronique. . ." Andre tried to interject.

"Exactly! And this is such a bad time for me! Why doesn't Papa just get up and do something, the selfish. . . Ugh! Get up and find me a husband! I need a father not a failure!" She broke down crying and threw a piece of paper at Papa. Andre picked it up.

"What's this?"

"From my best, best, friend. . ."

Phillipe leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Her boyfriend. . ."

Andre read aloud:

_Dearest V,_

_So sorry to hear about the awful disasters which have assailed you of late, but I'm afraid I just can't help. I'm so busy right now what with end-of-year exams, skiing and tennis, I really don't have a second. Mentioned your troubles to Mama, she said they were a judgment from God on your vanity, envy, spite, and pride! Seems a bit harsh, but worth thinking about, eh? Enjoy the country, V._

_Yours,_

_Camembert._

Veronique let out another shriek and stormed back up to her room. Andre threw the letter in the fire.

"Perhaps it's best she not read this again." He and Phillip left the room.

Marie-Clare glared at Papa a few more seconds then flounced off to join Veronique in a pity party. Emile bit his lips as if he was trying to think of something to say, but couldn't find the words. Soon, he too left.

I sat with Papa for a little longer, until he fell asleep. Then I sought out my brothers.

"Andre?" He was in his room, reading a text book.

"What is it, Beauty?"

"Do. . . do you think Veronique and Marie-Clare are right? That Papa is just sulking and that he's a. . ." I couldn't finish the sentence. _Failure._

"No, Beauty, I think he's just very sad. He misses Maman."

"But it's been two years."

"We can't just ask him to forget her. He loved her very much."

"More than he loves us?"

"Beauty. . . No. He loves us, too." I climbed into his lap and leaned against his chest. "He just needs more time."

And time we gave him. But he remained as melancholy as ever. One night, nearly a year later Phillipe rushed into my room in the middle of the night.

"Beauty! Get up, out of bed! Hurry!" I slipped my feet into slippers. Phillipe picked me up and raced out into the hall where my sisters were stumbling around bleary eyed. Emile stood at the top of the stairs. I realized the air was getting difficult to breathe. Smoke?

"Where is Andre?" Phillipe bellowed, a wild look in his eyes.

"Getting Papa!"

I was set down roughly.

"Get the girls out!"

Emile grabbed my hand and we followed Veronique and Marie-Clare out the door. Once we were far enough away to be safe, Emile let go of my hand and raced off to get help. My sisters and I stared up at our beautiful house. I could see the fire in the windows of the west side of the house and I prayed that my brothers and father would get out before it reached them. My prayer was answered as the front door flung open and my father and brothers rushed out, coughing.

My father sank to his knees and I sat beside him, holding him very close. We were both shaking. I heard Andre question Veronique.

"You aren't hurt?"

"No."

"And Marie-Clare and Emile?"

"Marie-Clare is fine, and Emile went to get help. . . Andre, how did this happen?"

"I don't know."

"All my things are in there!"

"I know."

"My dresses, my perfumes, my school reports, my cello!"

"I know."

"My pictures, my. . . my. . ." she started sobbing again, and Marie-Clare joined in.

My father cleared his throat. Everyone fell silent.

"Well," His voice was gravely like one that hadn't been used in a very long time, "Now, we must leave Paris. There is nothing left for us here. Too many memories. . ."

Eventually Emile came back with aid, but it was too late. The fire burned itself out and we were allowed to go in and salvage what we could. There wasn't much.

A good friend of my father's offered us a night in his house, and a wagon to help our move out to the country. He accepted.

Much to my sisters' dismay, we were leaving Paris for the country.


	3. To The Country

_**To The Country**_

After many tearful goodbyes and tantrums, the wagon was finally packed and ready for travel. There wasn't much in it, just the deed for the cottage and what few things that remained from the fire. There was plenty of room for the seven of us.

"Papa, I'm staying here!" Veronique had said firmly.

But in the end, even she was packed up and in the wagon.

It took us a few days to reach our destination. The fresh air felt wonderful, and I saw many birds and small creatures that I had never seen before. The people in the country proved to be very nice. One of our nearest neighbors(who lived several miles away) allowed us to borrow her family's cookbook.

"So you have something to eat while you settle in."

We thanked her profusely, and began to survey our new land. Veronique stepped daintily around a cow pie.

"What's that bleak expanse of mud and grass?" She queried aloud.

I turned to face her. "The country!"

Marie-Clare gripped my shoulder. "And that big, tall, green thing. . . ?"

"Is a tree!" Veronique grew pale.

"And that pile of old stones?"

"Our new home!" Phillipe answered cheerfully.

Marie-Clare began climbing back into the wagon to where Papa was unloading our few possessions. "Tell us it's not true!"

Veronique grabbed Papa's arm. "We can't live here, Papa!"

"It's all we have left." He said grimly, then turned back to his work.

Phillipe grabbed my sisters' arms and brought them down from the wagon. He looked around curiously. "If we want shelter," he began, "we must repair that cottage. If we want to eat, we must plant seeds in the earth, we must pull fish from the river and draw water from the well."

So we began to settle in. And it was hard! Those first years. Our soft, city hands soon got blistered and cracked, you see, none of us had ever done any kind of physical work before. In Paris, we'd lived in a kind of dream, a dream that rested on the efforts of others. We'd had servants to dress us, to put food in our mouths, and to tidy our mess, so it wasn't easy, digging fields all day and going to bed exhausted and hungry and getting up at five in the morning to shovel horse dung and clean out pig sties.

The land, we'd discovered, was perfect for farming grapes. So, we began producing wine, but it tasted horrible. I wondered how we'd get by if it were not for the charity of our neighbors. They loaned us food, and sometimes animals, and they bought our awful wine.

But by Christmas Day, six years after our move, we'd made life bearable.

I'd slaved away all day in the kitchen trying to recreate some of the fabulous meals we enjoyed in Paris. I wanted to make Christmas dinner very special. My family came into the kitchen looking pleased as they sat down to enjoy the meal.

Once all the food had been cleared from the dishes, my brothers toasted our reformed lives in the country, while my sisters sneered. They still hadn't warmed up to the idea.

I began clearing the table when a knock came on our door. Emile answered it. He came back to the table with a paper in his hand.

"What's that?" Marie-Clare asked as she snatched it from his hands.

"A letter," replied Emile, snatching it back. "For. . . Papa?"

Everyone grew very quiet as Papa read the letter.

"Oh dear," he murmured, almost to himself.

"Bad news?" Andre asked cautiously. I held my breath. How much more suffering could we all take?

Papa swallowed. "One of my ships, which had been feared lost. . . is found!"

A pause as the words sank in. Papa had played a joke on us. The news was good!

"The _Star of the Morning Sky_ is standing in the port of Marseilles, with a cargo of pearls!"

We all cheered heartily, but my sisters were suddenly ecstatic.

"How much is that worth?" Marie-Clare squeaked, barely holding in her joy.

"Millions. . ."

"Thank God!" She jumped with joy, and Veronique joined her.

"The end of poverty!"

Andre stood. "How far is Marseilles?"

Veronique brushed him aside. "Better get going now!"

Marie-Clare clung to my father's arm. "Will you bring us back presents?

My father smiled at her. "Yes, of course."

Phillipe frowned. "But we need you here, in the fields."

"I'll be back."

Veronique squealed, a high-pitched squeal, the kind that could make dogs pee. "We're going back to Paris!"

Phillipe mocked her squeal. "We're staying in the country!" But Veronique payed him no attention.

"First nights at the ballet!"

"Posh frocks and tiaras!" My father beamed at her.

Emile stepped in front of my silly, twirling sisters, who were lost in their daydreams of nobility. "We need a bull for the cows," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I'll get two!"

Andre grimaced and drew Papa aside. "Papa, it's really important for you to be very clear at this point."

Marie-Clare spun dangerously close to the fire. "Posh nosh with posh chaps!"

Phillipe shoved her aside. "We need a new wine press."

"Yes!"

"Rivers of perfume. . ."

"Flooding and flowing!"

Emile piped up again. "A machine for making ice cream!"

"It's coming, it's coming!"

Andre sighed and pulled Papa aside once more. "Papa, you've set up an impossible situation. . ."

Papa called of Andre's shoulder to my siblings. "You can all have everything, everything your little hearts desire!"

"It's not possible to say yes to both parties," Andre began, capturing Papa's attention again, "because what they each want is mutually exclusive and although it might make you feel good, saying yes to everybody all the time, it's an unsustainable position and when you finally make a decision on this, one party is going to feel really disappointed. And hurt!"

I agreed with him. Although I had kept quiet during the whole exchange, I wholly agreed with Andre and hoped Papa wouldn't move us back to Paris. Sure, I missed it, but the world and lives we had built for ourselves here seemed like a better one, one that did us good. I didn't want to leave the country. But I was growing tired of my sisters and sometimes my whole family. . .

"Andre," Papa said, and I snapped back to attention. "Andre, you are absolutely right!"

"So," Veronique began, and I braced myself, "We're going back to Paris!"

"Yes!"

"We're staying on the farm!"

"Right!"

Andre slapped his forehead. "I give up, I totally just give up. . ."

Marie-Clare and Veronique danced in each others arms. "We've climbed out of the pit of poverty and fallen back into the lap of luxury!" They shrieked as one. Suddenly Marie-Clare stopped and glared at me.

"Why's she so. . . quiet?" She asked Veronique, apparently confused.

"Just another attention grabbing strategy," sniffed Veronique.

Papa approached me. "Beauty! What can I bring you?"

I hugged him. "Just come home safely!"

"What a bloody prig," Marie-Clare hissed to Veronique.

I continued, "Beware of making promises you can't keep!"

"Let me buy you a present! One gift won't break us!"

Marie-Clare sneered. "What's she up to?"

I thought about it. If Papa wanted to bring me a present so badly, then fine. Something small perhaps. What did I want the most? I missed Maman. But it wasn't like Papa could bring home my mother again. But suddenly I remembered something; Maman's perfume. The smell of roses. It gave me inspiration.

"There is something, Papa."

Veronique smirked. "Here it comes. . ."

I grabbed my father's hands. "Bring me a rose! A wild red rose!" But then the thought of my request sank in. A rose would be expensive. How I longed to take it back. "It. . . It will cost you a little." A new thought arose and suddenly I didn't feel bad for my asking. "But it could be my dowry!" My father frowned slightly and looked into my eyes. I was vaguely aware of my sisters' rude comments in the background.

". . . She's trying to make herself look virtuous with her humble request."

"I'd like to rip out her windpipe and dance in her lungs."

Andre frowned at them and grabbed Papa's shoulder. "Listen to what they're saying, Papa!"

"We'll cut out her eyes and roast them on a spit!"

Andre glowered at them. "You must deal with this."

My father sighed. "Girls! Please! Less of your high spirits."

Andre sank into a chair. "Why do I bother?"

Papa turned back to me. "Beauty. It's too soon for you to be thinking of marriage! You'll be required to keep your father company for many years yet to come."

I shook my head. "Soon, I will leave here and make my own life."

He turned an interesting shade of puce. "I forbid you to think such thoughts! D'you hear?"

How could he just dash my dreams like that? Phillipe noticed the tears in my eyes.

"Beauty?" Everyone was silent. I gasped and left the kitchen, returning to the small room I shared with my sisters. I lay on my bed and contemplated what had just happened. But the more I thought, the more frustrated I became.

The rest of the discussion finished and my family retired to their respective rooms. I rolled over on my bed and feigned sleep. Marie-Clare and Veronique stayed up late into the night, giggling about the news of the letter.

I tried to tell myself that tomorrow would arrive soon and things would be better, but somehow I couldn't convince myself.

* * *

A/N: So, that was interesting. . . And pretty long. It's now 11:22 pm on a school night, and I'm pretty tired. So I'll just post this and go to bed.

But, before I do, here are the ages of the kids by the end of this chapter:

Before country – Andre, 18; Veronique, 17; Phillipe, 15; Marie-Clare, 14; Emile, 11; Beauty, 7.

One year later – Andre, 19; Veronique, 18; Phillipe, 16; Marie-Clare, 15; Emile, 12; Beauty, 8.

At time of letter – Andre, 25; Veronique, 24; Phillipe, 20; Marie-Clare, 21; Emile, 17; Beauty, 14.

Reviews are helpful, seeing as not many people read Beauty and the Beast FanFictions. . .

Thanks for sticking with it this long if you have, anyhow.

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	4. Bon Voyage, Papa

_**Bon Voyage, Papa**_

By some unspoken consent, we all 'forgot' about my little outburst the day before. We did our morning chores, and I only heard one complaint out of Veronique and two from Marie-Clare. The difference from before was mind-boggling. Papa bustled around packing for his trip. He was as excited as I had seen him in a long time.

"Beauty, have you seen my nice socks? I can't find them anywhere!" He asked as he wandered through the kitchen where I was cooking our midday meal.

I sighed. "Papa, they're in your hand," I said.

He looked at his hand and laughed. "Why so they are! What would I do without you, Beauty?"

I shrugged and stirred my soup. It was nearly done.

Papa came over and hugged me. "It smells good, that soup," he complemented.

"Thank you, Papa."

Veronique wandered into the room.

"Papa! Why haven't you left yet?"

"Tomorrow, Veronique. Tomorrow is when I go."

"Soup's done!" I called. I doled it out into dishes and set them on the table. "Veronique, could you find the boys?"

"Why should I have to do it? My soup will get cold!"

I rolled my eyes. Thankfully, my brothers marched in on cue, with Marie-Clare trailing them. We all sat at the table and talked about Papa's coming journey while we ate. Well, they talked. I mostly ate. However, a question buzzed around my mind.

"How long will you be gone, Papa?" I asked.

"I'd say Marseilles is about a week's journey away, maybe a little more, because of the snow. Then it shouldn't take me long to claim the money. I'll stay a little longer after that, I remember some old friends in Marseilles that I haven't have the pleasure of communicating with since your mo– . . . well, a long time. Plus, I'll have to do my shopping," my sisters' eyes glittered, "and then I should be on my way home again. Maybe, a month or two?"

I nodded slowly and turned my attention back to my soup. Two months wouldn't be too bad. It was winter, so the harvest was over, and growing season wasn't for quite a while. We could hold down the fort for two months.

As soon as everyone finished their soup, Papa jumped up and resumed packing. Emile volunteered to wash the dishes, so I let him.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Papa finished packing and we prepared to see him off the following morning.

That night, I had a dream.

_I'm walking in a forest, the snow blankets the ground. Although I can see my breath, I do not feel cold at all. The trees seem to hiss threatening words. I hear wolves in the background and shiver, despite not being cold. All of a sudden, the trees seem to give way to an almost translucent castle. The snow is gone. A beautiful woman glides up to me, and speaks._

"_Beauty. Changes will come. You must be prepared, for you will not stay at home much longer..."_

_She disappears and I see my mother smiling at me. She takes my hands and whispers in my ear, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."_

_I look down at my hands to find they have been transformed into hairy, clawed paws! I scream and scream and scream._

I woke up, my heart pounding, and covered in a cold sweat. But few minutes later I rolled over and fell asleep, strange nightmare forgotten.

I rose early that morning, determined to bake some bread for my father, lest he got hungry before he found a place where he could secure a meal. It would have to be small, maybe a few rolls, because we needed the flour for other things. Soon, we'd have to go shopping for food. I pounded the dough and shoved it in the oven before I was joined by Andre.

"Morning, Beauty. What do I smell?" he asked.

"I'm baking bread for Papa's journey," I replied. He nodded and looked hopefully toward the stove.

"Perhaps some eggs? For breakfast?"

I laughed. Andre was always hungry. "Perhaps," I agreed.

My bread finished baking just as Andre finished his eggs. By that time, everybody else was up and wanting breakfast. Andre excused himself to go saddle up Papa's horse.

"I'm going to miss your cooking, Beauty," my father said.

"It'll be only two months," I said. "Two months, then you can come back here, where we need you."

"Ha! By the time he gets back, he'll be so rich we can move back to Paris!" Veronique said.

I looked at Phillipe. He rolled his eyes and we exchanged faces as Andre strode back in.

"Your horse is ready, Papa."

We fell silent and slowly marched outside with Papa. I gave him my rolls, wrapped in cloth to keep warm. He place them in his saddle bags and climbed onto his mare.

"Farewell, _mes enfants._"

"_Rester sûr_, Papa. Stay safe."

He nodded once to us, then turned his horse down the path. We stayed, watching him until he rode out of sight.

* * *

A/N: Fun! Now, Papa's on his way and Beauty's have prophetic dreams? Wow. I'm weird.

...

I have to admit, I'm a little at loss for what to do now. But rest assured, I'll think of something! Thanks to anyone who's read this far! I love you!

French*: _mes enfants _– my children

_rester sûr _– stay safe

* For any French-retarded people, like myself. I had to plug these words into a language translator! Woo hoo!

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	5. Francois

_**Francois**_

The days without Papa to come were long, and difficult. We worked on the farm, and kept a constant and wary eye on the road. Surely he would return soon. Surely.

My sisters pranced around, shirking their duties and squealing about the noble life they were positive we'd return to. "Why work?" they'd ask, "When we will be living in Paris in a few, short months? When we'll have our servants to do everything for us?"

My brothers and I, on the side of staying with our new lives, simply picked up their chores and worked around them. There were days when my sisters never even went outside.

"A noble woman has a pale complexion, Beauty!" they'd squeal at night when we'd retire to our room.

Veronique flounced her way to my bed. She moved in such a swishy manner, I knew she was imagining wearing her long ball gowns once more. "You know, you look so dark, you'll never be able to lighten up in time!" She pulled up her sleeve and thrust her white skin against my sun-darked arm and laughed.

"All the more men for us!" Marie-Clare giggled, rolling back onto her bed.

I noticed their accents changing slightly. The country tones we'd picked up over the last six years were disappearing in their voices. To annoy them, I layered mine on extra thick.

"I sure hope we stay here!" I chirped. And before either of them could say anything else, I climbed into bed and rolled over.

Papa's stay began to extend. After two months, he didn't return. Nor after three, four, five months. Now, even my sisters began to worry.

"What if we never get back to Paris?" Marie-Clare wailed over dinner one night.

Andre smirked. "Then you'll have to stay here and work in the fields with the cow pies!" Phillipe, Emile and I laughed raucously. Veronique frowned at us.

"This is a real dilemma, you know. Marie-Clare and I simply must go back to Paris!"

"You haven't even spoken of Papa's absence, dear sister," I said.

Veronique glared at me. "If you think I don't care for Papa, you're certainly wrong!" She stood up. "Come on, Marie-Clare. Let us retire."

They disappeared into our bedroom whispering. "They're plotting something," Emile said conspiratorially.

Sure enough, two days later, Veronique sought me out to speak with me on the subject of men.

"If you're planning on staying here, blob, you better settle down. You're coming of a marrying age soon."

"Why on earth should I settle down?" I asked.

"Marie-Clare and I have discussed it, and if you'd rather stay in the country while the rest of us go back home, you better find yourself a man. Someone to . . . protect you."

I glanced at her.

She continued, "Actually. . . I have someone in mind. . ."

I raised my eyebrows.

"He's really quite lovely, blob," Veronique said. "Perhaps someone will finally love you."

"And you're telling me this because. . .?" I asked.

"Just thought. . . you know. . . trying to be nice and all that."

"Mmhm."

"I'll talk to him. Maybe he'll take you out."

"I don't even know who you're talking about!"

"His name's Francois."

I rolled my eyes. "And why, pray tell, aren't you courting him?"

"I thought he'd. . . be perfect for you."

I turned to face her. What was this, a new truce? Why was she being so nice all of a sudden?

"Alright," I said. "Have your little fun playing matchmaker."

She smiled, but I couldn't tell if it was genuine or hiding something. "I've already done that! He'll meet you at the gate at 2 o'clock."

* * *

Since some of my flowers grew on a trellis near the gate, I tended to them whilst waiting for the alleged 'Francois'. Perhaps this was some cruel joke I had allowed Veronique to play on me yet again. If he was even real at all, he was late.

I hummed a lullaby from my childhood and plucked the dead flowers from the trellis while I waited. Soon enough, he arrived.

"Hello, there, gorgeous." Wonderful. A smooth talker.

I glanced up to meet his eyes shyly. They were gray.

"Hello."

Francois entered the gate. His gaze swept up and down my body. I suddenly felt very self-conscious.

"You're even more beautiful up close." He leaned in and smelled me. "And what a scent!" His own scent was tinged with alcohol. I took a step back.

"I. . . I'm not feeling well. Perhaps we could meet another time," I suggested.

"I've seen you in the market place, you know, shopping."

"That is what one tends to do in a market."

"Not me. I like to look at pretty girls."

What a lech.

He grabbed my face.

"Kiss me."

"No!"

He pressed his lips to mine. I pulled away and slapped him across the face.

"Why, you little. . .!" He grabbed my wrist and threw me to the ground. "I'll teach you to hit me!"

I screamed but he pulled off his cap and stuffed it in my mouth. With one hand, he pinned my arms above my head while the other pushed aside my skirts. Just as he reached up to undo the front of my dress, a fist swung out of nowhere and sent him sprawling to the ground.

Andre yanked Francois up by his collar and punched him again. "How dare you touch our sister!" he yelled.

Phillipe pulled me off the ground and shoved me behind him. I leaned against him and clutched his sleeve. He watched with cold eyes as Andre continued to beat Francois. Finally, Andre threw him out the gate.

"And if you even so much as look at her again, I _will_ kill you!" Francois ran away, limping slightly and spitting blood over his shoulder at us.

My knees gave out and I sank to the ground, trembling. In an instant my brothers were beside me.

"Are you hurt?" Phillipe asked.

"Did he. . . How far. . . Was your honor shamed?" Andre asked. I knew what he was asking.

"No, and no, thank God," I answered. I couldn't stop shaking. "Thank _you_." I shuddered at the thought of what would have happened had my brothers not come in time. Andre pulled me into a hug.

"We heard you scream, and so we came," Phillipe recounted as he reached out to stroke my hair. "When we saw him on top of you, we. . ." he froze and I buried myself deeper into Andre's shoulder.

"How I'd like to give him another pounding. Or see him dead!" Andre said viciously.

I shook my head. "I just want to forget this whole thing!"

"Let's get you back home. And, from now on, don't you go anywhere without me or Phillipe." He started to get back up, but I grabbed his sleeve and brought him closer.

"Andre, Phillipe, not a word about this to Veronique or Marie-Clare, do you hear?"

"Beauty, what – "

"Promise!"

Phillipe and Andre glanced at each other, then at me.

"Alright. But why?"

"Like I said, I just want to forget the whole thing. Do you promise me you won't say anything?"

". . . Yes," both my brothers agreed.

"Now can we go home?" Andre asked.

I nodded and he carried me all the way to my bed.

The next morning, Veronique approached me, a rather sour look in her eyes.

"So, what happened, blob? What about Francois?"

"Oh, he. . . he never showed up."

"Huh. Guess he thought you weren't worth it, eh? But then again, who does?" But she walked away mumbling something about getting her money back.

After that, life went on blissfully uneventful, although Andre and Phillipe seemed to keep a rather watchful eye on me. Papa still didn't return.

* * *

A/N: Yes, they're that evil. I suppose I have to bump up the rating now...

Also, this chapter was all mine, except for the characters... lol. Wait. Francois is mine too. Little shit.

I apologize profusely for not updating! I've been so busy, I moved countries and started at a new school, and honestly, I didn't think anyone read this anyways. But a couple of people have put story alerts on it, so I figured, as a thank you, I'd continue it. ;)

Thank you so much, guys!

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	6. Papa's Return

_**Papa's Return**_

I was tending the gardens outside where we grew most of our own vegetables. The small patch I had set aside for my rose garden still remained, sadly, empty. Soon I would let it grow over, just as my hopes for Papa's return had. Andre ambled over to me.

"How goes it, sis?" He asked, kneeling down to aid me in planting the tomato seeds. This was why Andre was my favorite brother. He helped out and tried to keep things bearable.

"Well, I suppose," I answered him. We continued working for a while and I barely noticed him freeze.

"Papa?" Andre whispered.

I looked up. My father stood at the gate.

"Papa!" Andre shouted. The rest of my siblings ran outside.

"You came back!" Phillipe exclaimed.

"Alive. . ." Andre murmured.

Papa enter our property and slowly walked toward us. He was pale and thin, and although his countenance was one of happiness, I could see it did not quite reach his eyes. His expression faltered as his gaze turned to me. His trembling hands clutched a bright red rose.

Marie-Clare bounded forward and embraced Papa. "Where's my present?" she squealed.

"Exactly!" Veronique chimed in as she joined the hug.

"_Mes enfants_," Papa murmured. "My, how you've grown. . ."

"What did you expect us to do, shrink?" Veronique was almost giddy with excitement.

"You've only been away fourteen months. . ." Marie-Clare complained.

Veronique nodded. ". . .twenty-eight minutes, three hours and two days. . ."

"Oh, my little ones." Papa held out his hands and my brothers joined the hug.

I stepped closer. "Father?" I asked, hardly daring to believe he was alive. He approached me, still trying to smile and make light of the situation.

"Beauty," he said. "You asked for a rose. Take it."

I didn't move. "What's happened?" I asked, cautious.

The false smile finally left his face. "It will cost your father dearly."

I took the rose. "I don't understand. . ."

Marie-Clare had had enough. "Is she the only one who's gonna get a present?" she asked incredulously.

"Exactly. Well, that just about takes the cake . . ." Veronique said in agreement.

"And puts the cherry on the biscuit tin!"

Andre stepped in. "Not now girls."

"Where's my hand cream?"

"And my new dress!"

"Shut it!" Phillipe's expression was terse. I finally understood the phrase 'the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife'.

"My lacy gloves!"

"My lipstick!"

Emile barely restrained himself from launching at my sisters. "Witches!"

Andre raised his voice slightly. "Let's all calm down now, shall – "

My sisters overthrew him. "What about me, me, me!"

Andre placed his hands on their shoulders. "We're all a bit churned up because Papa's just – "

"What about ME!"

I couldn't take it anymore. "Father! What happened?"

He sighed and walked back to our house. We followed in a strange, somber procession. Papa sat wearily at the table. I placed my rose in a water-filled jug, wondering how it could have survived the long journey.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter's so short, especially after the giant one we had last time, but like I said, I've been busy.

Also, I probably won't be able to update for at least 2 weeks, it's getting close to production on this play I'm in, so yeah...

Thank you so much for your support. My readers are awesome!

Apologies for any typos I missed. I don't proof-read very well.

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	7. Jean Louis's Tale

_**Jean Louis' Tale**_

My father sat at the table, his entire frame seemingly smaller, more tired. He looked at me and sighed, leaning his head forward into his hands.

"It is not a pleasant tale, Beauty." But he told us his whole story.

* * *

The ship had arrived in port, as the letter had promised, but the merchant's dishonest partners had repossessed it and sold it off cheaply, for a quick profit, and though the merchant took his partners to law to reclaim what was rightfully his and though he proved his case, the legal proceedings took nine months and the cost of the litigation, left the merchant with nothing! His fortune had escaped him, to add to his disappointment. And as he began his journey home, a snow storm blew up.

Despite the icy winds and blasting snow, the merchant was determined to get home to his children. He made a mighty vow in the core of his heart and pushed on through the storm.

Night fell. He was deep alone in a freezing cold forest. Lost.

Without shelter, he thought, surely, he'd freeze to death. Or be ripped to pieces by the wolves with their ever closer sounding howls. . .

He discovered an old, hollow tree and decided to spend what may be his last night on earth. He tried to stay awake, but wearied with exhaustion and shaking with cold, he slowly drifted to sleep, offering one last prayer before closing his eyes.

_Oh merciful lord. Protect my children. Help them to grow up strong and true. Help them to love you and all your works... look after them in this world and take them to heaven to live with you in bliss. Our father who art in heaven, amen._

But when he opened his eyes again, the sun had emerged from behind the mountain, dissolving the night and splashing the snow-whitened trees with the delicate gold and soft pink of a brand new day. He thanked God for sparing his life, and turned to look for the path. But it was completely gone!Snow had covered the forest floor, so the merchant decided to head due north.

Sheets of ice hid beneath the snow. He struggled on, not knowing where he was going. And then, at the point of complete despair, when he had given up all hope, he saw a shimmering, translucent palace. It seemed visible and invisible all at once. . . A path lined with pearls led to the palace and on either side were orange trees, bursting with blossoms and heavy with fruit.

The merchant was confused. It was winter, but these trees were both in bloom _and_ bearing fruit? But before he could conclude his important contemplations, a stairway appeared. The banisters were made of ivory and the steps of solid gold.

Up, he climbed. Higher and higher. Higher and higher! Soon he was above the clouds. The forest stretched out beneath him like a frozen lake and when he reached the top he stopped and screamed, "I'm standing on the roof of the world!"

He turned around and spied a lapis lazuli door, with a handle of tears. His hand reached to the door, opening it, he stepped inside and fell.

The merchant awoke to find himself in a hall at the heart of the palace. The scent of jasmine filled the air. He was overwhelmed by the magnificence of the architecture, and astonished at the sunlight, streaming and flooding in though the stained glass windows.

His stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten for two days. And as the instant hunger gripped his stomach he came upon a large table, laden with many kinds of food. _ Meat! Cake! Snails!_ thought the merchant, ecstatic at his great fortune. He ate and drank his fill, then decided it was time to find his host and thank him for the fabulous feast.

As he scuttled down the empty corridors, crying his thanks out to any soul who might hear him, he quickly became concerned. He could not spot a living soul. Couldn't even spy a servant! Each room was utterly empty.

He observed the room he was currently standing in. On the ceilings suns shone, moons spun and eagles soared. On the walls, tapestries teemed with tremulous life, kingfishers dived into turbulent rivers and swirling clouds of butterflies flapped tiny embroidered wings. On the floor was a carpet of dreams, rippling with a million colors and wet with as many tears. And just as the merchant was wondering what such a carpet would look like in a delicate shade of softest pink. . . the carpet rippled into the very shade he had in mind. He stood there, gaping.

"Carpet! Turned! Pink!"

The merchant had suffered many years of grief and bitter disappointment, he'd lost a home, a business and a wife. Yet here, in the intense magic of the palace, his pain began to melt like a snowball in a pan of boiling water. Images of glory were reborn in his mind. He hurled the unhappiness out of his heart and shook the sadness from his soul.

He felt alive, happy and free!

The merchant began to run about the palace, making an inventory of all its precious treasures. Treasures, he now believed, belonged to him.

Lost in his dreams of wealth and power, he galloped into the gardens of the palace. He danced among the topiary, playing make believe with the plants. He was very far gone, but he felt like a man once more. He felt ready to resume his position at the pinnacle of Parisian society!

He fell into the soft grass by the path of pearls, tears falling from his eyes. He believed he'd die in poverty, a failure in his children's eyes.

Then he saw the rose bush.

Stepping toward it, he reached his hand out to stroke the rose in the center, the most perfect and beautiful rose he'd ever seen in his life. He thought back to his youngest daughter's request for a simple rose, oh how she would be ever so delighted with this rose! This princely rose, this perfect, beautiful, wonderful rose. A rose to fit his child, Beauty. He plucked it from the bush.

Blood spurted from the stem and somewhere, very nearby something roared.

* * *

A/N: Ok, so different format, but yeah.

And this chapter is 95% entirely script, so this chapter does not belong to me, but rather Laurence Boswell and the Royal Shakespeare Company.

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	8. The Beast

_**The Beast**_

Jean Louis fell to the ground, curled in a tight ball, his arms over his head. The rose lay at his side, all but forgotten. An enormous shadow loomed over him.

He refused to look up, terrified at just what might be standing over him, breathing on him with that hot breath.

A strange creature knelt beside him, but not the giant thing that had created the dreadful roar. He permitted himself one peek at this. It was about the size of a man, but it was not a man. He could not tell if it was plant, or animal, or even mechanical. It gripped his arm tightly and pulled him up to his knees.

The strange creature pushed its face into Jean Louis' own. "Who gave you permission. . . steal. . . masster'ss rossse?" it snarled, drawing out its 's's in a hiss. "Who?"

"I – I – I – Help! Help!" Jean Louis cried out.

"Nothing can help you now!" the creature cackled, and Jean Louis' terror was not great enough to miss the strange tone of its voice. It was garbled, gravelly and vaguely metallic. Slight curiosity crept into the man.

But his curiosity was quickly overtaken by the terror as the thing that stood over him roared once more.

He could barely make out one word: "INGRATTITUDE!"

His reply was reflexive. "What?"

The creature at his side doubled its grip on his arm. "You. . . ttassted pleassure. . . now sssteal massster'sss rossse?"

"Oh, but I didn't know it belonged to – "

"EXCUSES." Jean Louis clenched his eyes shut, ready to feel the fangs dripping about him dive into his flesh.

"No excusssesss. . ."

Jean Louis dropped to the ground again. "You see, I'm just. . ."

"PUNISH."

The creature rubbed its hands eagerly. "Massster will punish you!"

"Oh, have mercy, mighty lord! Have mercy on me!"

The huge thing above him growled with displeasure. "FLATTERY?"

The smaller creature lifted Jean Louis to his knees again then hit him down to the feet of the larger monster. "Not lord! Beast! Masster hatesss flattery!"

Jean Louis peeked at this beast's feet. They had matted fur, were dirty and clawed. He shut his eyes quickly again and spoke. "Beast, in the name of justice and mercy and truth, I beg you, let me speak! Don't condemn me, without first having heard my story!"

The beast growled. "Why steal rose?"

Jean Louis swallowed nervously. "I. . . I didn't know . . . I thought – I couldn't. . . I looked. . ." he trailed off miserably. The beast made a noise somewhere between a growl and a roar. It was frightening to the poor merchant.

The creature, which Jean Louis had come to understand as a henchman of sorts, stalked around him. "Masster doessssn't undersstand a word..."

"I'm not a thief, Beast!" Jean Louis yelped suddenly. "I took the rose, as a gift. . . For Beauty. . ."

The beast shifted on its paws. "Beauty?"

Jean Louis tentatively looked up at the monster. "My. . . youngest daughter."

The beast's face was even more frightening than its roar. Its shaggy mane hung, knotted and dirty. Horns grew out from beneath the fur. Fangs protruded from its mouth, which rested beneath its huge snout. And its eyes. . . Jean Louis darted his gaze back to the ground, away from those terrible eyes.

"You steal. Must punish." the beast growled.

"How will you punish me?" Jean Louis could feel his entire body trembling.

The beast observed him. "Will. . . eat you!"

Jean Louis recoiled in horror. "My God, eat me?"

The henchman cackled as it leapt about in pleasure. "Alive!"

"Or," thundered the voice above him, "You bring Beauty here. Be Beast bride."

_No!_ Not Beauty, never Beauty! How could he sacrifice his child, his youngest? The merchant desperately tried to think of an excuse. "But, my daughter. . . could never marry a. . . man. . . of your status, Beast. She must marry the son of a peasant! I'm poor, I can't even give my girls a decent dowry!"

"I seek no profit, merchant! She is, herself, a dowry."

"But it's not –"

The beast roared. "Eaten be, or daughter give! Decide!"

To be eaten alive, or to give this beast his daughter? What kind of choice was that? "I took you for a gentleman, Beast. A man of honor and reason. Surely, you will not behave like a tyrant! How would it profit you to eat me? How?"

The beast roared its loudest yet, spittle flying over Jean Louis.

He plucked up his courage as best as he could. "Let me plead my case! You are the master of this radiant place, where carpets change color with your thoughts, where tapestries teem with life, and yet you would eat me, a guest, for plucking a rose?"

Another ear-splitting roar from the beast. Jean Louis looked into his eyes, steeling himself. He realized just what it was about those eyes that made the beast so terrible. They were blue, bright blue and seemed almost human. The idea of human eyes in this strange monster was frightening. Had he stolen these eyes from a prisoner, for his own? Jean Louis swallowed hard.

"Why do you eat people, Beast? And why are you trying to steal my daughter?"

The beast grappled with this. The henchman-creature flicked its head back and forth between the two.

"Because Beast. . . Because, must!"

Jean Louis heartened at this indecision. "Who could compel you to do anything? How many father have been eaten? How many daughters, disappeared? Why do you steal them, Beast? I demand an answer!"

"To be. . . To be. . ." the beast paused, as if he was thinking.

"Well?"

The beast threw back its head and roared. "Eaten be, or daughter give! Decide! You have one month."

Jean Louis was taken aback. "What?"

"Go home. Decide. Come back." The beast growled.

"Thank – thank you, Beast. . ." Jean Louis hid a smile, of course, he would not come back.

"Give sacred word!"

He crossed his fingers behind his back. "I'll return in one month. Promise!" The beast turned away, apparently content with his answer.

But the henchman was not so convinced. It leapt up, grabbing Jean Louis' hand and twisted it forward.

"Don't crossss fingersss behind backs!" The beast whipped around, grabbing the front to the shaking man's cloak. The breath of the beast stank as the monster snarled. "If you run, I run faster. If you hide, I will find."

Jean Louis stared into the terrifying eyes of the beast. "I give you my sacred word of honor, Beast, that I will return in one month, to be eaten alive, or to give you my daughter." As he said it, he knew that he could never give Beauty up, he would have to go home and enjoy his last days with his children. The beast released him and he dropped to the ground, defeated. The beast swooped down and snatched up the rose. He thrust it at Jean Louis. "Give Beauty rose." Jean Louis had no choice but to accept the gift, the gift that was truly poison.

The beast made some gesture to the creature at his side then retreated into the shadows, growling. His eyes were the last thing the merchant saw before the beast disappeared entirely. The henchman bowed respectfully in the direction of the beast then turned toward Jean Louis.

"Follow," it said in its strange voice.

It led him to the stable of the grounds. "Masster'ss horssse. . . She fly faster than. . . wind. . ." Jean Louis stared at the horse. It was a magnificent animal, really, but all he could think of was the deal he had just made with the Beast.

The beast's henchman spoke to him again. "If daughter comess. . . musst be of free will. . . Cannot forcce her. . ."

Jean Louis nodded. He clamored onto the bare back of the horse, unsure of how to control the animal.

The henchman-creature cackled at his confusion. "Sssay, 'Take me to where I musst go'."

Jean Louis nodded again.

"Take me. . . to where I must go."


	9. Opposition

_**Opposition**_

As he rode home, Jean Louis thought.

What use was a month? He should have forced the monster to eat him on the spot! It would have been a speedy end to the hideous mess.

But he couldn't help thinking, what if Beauty knew the full story? Getting married is not quite the same as being eaten alive. . . He couldn't help but wonder, would Beauty marry the Beast, to save her father's life?

No! He couldn't ask her that. He'd enjoy his month with his children, embrace them, give them his blessing and prepare them for his departure. And when the month was up, he'd return to the palace and give himself to the Beast. A decent solution. He was resolved.

The horse left him at the edge of the forest, by his road. He continued down the path, weary, thinking of the pearl-laden path he'd traveled up, only hours before. . .

And then, he saw his house, his gate, his eldest and youngest child on their knees, digging in the garden. Andre looked up at him, frozen for a few minutes, then. . .

"Papa?"

* * *

As he finished his story, we sat around the table, all of us speechless for once in our lives.

Then, suddenly, Phillipe leapt out of his chair.

"We won't let you go!" he exclaimed, although I wasn't entirely sure who he was speaking to.

Veronique glared at me. "She's so horribly selfish!"

"My sword is sharp, Papa!" Emile cried out, just as Andre said, "We will defend you!"

Marie-Clare threw herself into my father's arms. "Papaaaa, you can't leave me!"

My father stood up. "Mes enfants!" he said firmly. Silence fell.

"I'll go. . ." I began, but immediately my brothers were on me. "No!" Andre said.

"I'll go in your place," Emile cried desperately looking at me.

Marie-Clare snorted. "He won't marry a _boy_."

Phillipe grabbed my arms and looked into my eyes. "Don't even think about it, Beauty. Don't!"

Veronique kicked me under the table. "She's killing our Papa!" she said to Marie-Clare.

Andre stood and looked around the table. "Beast is a tyrant!"

My father slammed his hand down on the table. "Ҫa suffit!"

Marie-Clare burst into tears and fell into Veronique's arms. "Why didn't she ask for a normal kind of present?"

She was right. I nodded, "I asked for the rose. I'll go to the palace." This caused an uproar among my brother and father.

"I won't let you, Beauty," my father said immediately. "What father would!"

"To save your life!" I cried. "What daughter wouldn't?"

He shook his head. "You cannot sacrifice yourself for me."

I thought of something. "If I marry Beast, I'll be the wife of a rich and powerful man, the mistress of a magical palace!"

My father stared at me incredulously. "Beauty? How can you think of such things?"

I squared my shoulders. "It's my duty!"

"No!" my brothers shouted.

"My destiny!"

"No!"

"My fate!"

My father was standing at the window, his head bowed. It seemed to me that we had lost him again, the way we lost him when my mother died.

"Well, that seems like a reasonable solution to me," Veronique said calmly.

"Absolutely!" agreed Marie-Clare. For once, they were on my side, but it wasn't in any way that I liked.

They planted themselves on either side of me, blocking my brothers from me. "And think about this, Beast Girl," Veronique hissed in my ear, "When the glamourous wedding is over and all the guests have gone home, this cannibal is sure to eat you up! And when you're chewed and cracked and squirted out the other end –" Marie-Clare giggled with delight at this. "– we'll have Papa all to ourselves!"

"Now!" screamed Phillipe, and he and Emile dived at my sisters. They grabbed Veronique and she screamed. They forced her to the ground and began to tie her up. Andre, always the level-headed one, grabbed Emile's arm. "Brothers. Is brutality the only response you can summon up to resolve this conflict?"

Marie-Clare shrieked as she stared at Veronique's bonds. "Papa! Look what they're doing to Veronique!"

This time it was Emile who shouted, "Now!" as he and Phillipe both dived for my other sister. Andre tried to stop them. "Is oppression going to solve this problem in the long run?"

Marie-Clare bit Emile's hand. "Exactly, bully boys, untie me, or I'll cut you up!" That was the final straw for Andre.

"Right," he said calmly. "Let me give you a hand with that." He gagged Marie-Clare.

I touched my father's shoulder. He looked at me, and I could see the defeat in his eyes. "Beauty, we'll spend this month together and then I'll go to the palace and give myself up to the Beast."

"No!" I said along with my brothers and the muffled protests of my sisters.

"I'm going!" my father cried.

"No!" my brothers shouted.

"I'm going!" I said.

"No!" my brothers shouted again.

My father stared at me. His eyes were clouded, I couldn't see what he was thinking. "We still have a month. Then I'll leave for the palace." We began to protest eagerly, but he interrupted us. "I'll not have another word about it!"

One month. I would have one month to convince my father to let me go in his place.

* * *

A/N: Woot! I just cranked out, like, three chapters for you guys! Haha...

Reviews are always helpful, even if it's just telling me that you're reading it. I never know if anyone really reads this fic. It's hard to get past the prologue, I know. But now it's getting interesting, right? Right? *crickets*

Thanks.

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	10. One Month

_**One Month**_

The month passed slowly and painfully. The rose remained in its perfect, beautiful state. It sat in its vase, unchanging and mysterious. Further proof of the Beast's magic and my father's tale.

Papa knew my intentions to go in his place and everyday he tried to change my mind. But I was resolute.

Emile's birthday passed in this month. It was a quiet affair, as the tension in the household was still thick. He turned 20 years old, and I was the only child among us still a teen. My father and brothers tried to use this.

"You're much too young!" they'd cry out. "15 years is much too young. You've hardly lived!"

My sisters sided with me every chance they got. It was a relief to not have to fight them any more, but it still pained me to know that my own sisters wished me a horrible death. I suppose I should have been used to it by now, but it hurt in any case.

Andre, Phillipe, and Emile took it upon themselves to never let me out of their sight, for fear I'd run off when no one was watching. They even took it in turns to sleep outside my door.

As I was tending the garden one morning with Andre he suddenly turned to me, and grabbed my wrists. "Beauty," he began, tears forming in his eyes, "Beauty, you are the best of us. How can we lose you? Don't go, please."

"I must," I told him firmly. "I cannot let Papa die."

"We'll fight the beast. We can protect you, both of you!" he pleaded desperately.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Andre."

He was silent for a moment. "Do you not love us anymore?"

"No! Andre, no, never believe that! I love you all, so much!"

"Then why are you leaving us with broken hearts?"

"It is because I love you that I must do this." He relinquished his hold on my wrists and walked away from me ten paces. He whispered softly, "I do not understand you, Beauty."

I ignored him, turning back to my garden.

At night, I could hear him pleading with our father, both begging him not to leave, and insisting that I stay. He was fighting a losing battle. Both my father and myself were solid in our plans.

Phillipe slammed his hand on the table the night before the month was up. We all jumped, having been lost in thought and silent throughout the dinner. "Beauty, Papa, neither of you can go! Beauty, you've spent your whole life working on this farm! You need to live yet, this beast, despite his promise of marriage, will certainly eat you! Papa, you can't go to the palace to be eaten alive by this creature, this monster! He is a beast, he'll remain nothing more than a beast, and we can take him!"

"Phillipe," my father began quietly, "My son, do not pretend you can fight him. You didn't see him. I will go to the palace, to protect you all, my children."

"How can you leave us fatherless?" I cried, "How? Papa, I am ashamed of you!"

"How can I ask you, my youngest daughter, to marry this monster? I can't ask that of you, it's much too horrendous!"

I took his hand. "Papa. I have come to believe that these summons to the palace to meet this strange creature, to marry him, might be the beginning of my life, not the end of it as I had feared."

Stunned silence around the room. Six pairs of eyes were trained on me. I lay down my fork and knife, and returned to my room.

I thought about packing for the journey, but what could I possibly pack? Surely it would get lost along the way. The way. . . I didn't even know where this castle was. Perhaps I'd get eaten by wolves before I could even meet this beast. I lay on my bed, lost in thought when my sisters came back to the room. Even they, for once, were silent.

Not a sound was made all through the night. I knew, for I was awake the entire time. The first rays of sun began to light the skies when I slipped out of our bedroom and into the kitchen. My father was already there, sitting at the table, lacing his boots. He looked up at me and stood.

"It's time," he said plainly.

I said nothing, just stared at him.

"I'm going, Beauty! Give your father a kiss?"

Still, I remained silent. I made a move toward the door, but he stepped in my path. He made once last attempt to sway me.

"I've lived my life, yours has only just begun!"

Again, I had nothing to say.

"Beauty!" he yelled. "Speak!"

At this my brothers and sisters ran into the room. Marie-Clare and Veronique flung themselves at my father, sobbing. My father stiffly held them in his arms.

"I – I know a cave," said Phillipe desperately, "In the mountains, behind a waterfall, it's huge! We'll run away together, all of us! We can live there, hidden!"

I shook my head, remembering the details of my father's story. "If you run, he will run faster! If you hide, he will find. . ."

Andre turned on me. "He smells of the blood and rotting flesh of his victims!"

I held my head high. "Why would he kill me if he wants me for his bride?" I challenged.

Emile grabbed my shoulders, shaking them. "If you go, he'll eat you alive!"

"Then it will be a speedy death!"

"He can barely utter a sentence," murmured my father. "He grunts like an animal in the fields!"

I broke from Emile's grasp. "You said he was a magician who ruled a magical palace!"

"No!" my father pleaded, "He's a cannibal who will devour you. . ."

"You said it was a place that softened your heart and freed your soul. . ." I said, tears beginning to fall.

He crossed to me, took me in his arms. "Beauty, I am your father. I love you. I must nurture you in all things, defend you from all harm. These are the sacred duties of a father. I have no choice, you live in my heart!"

I wrapped my arms around him, buried my face in his chest. "You _have_ protected me. Nurtured me, loved me. And I will always feel blessed to have been your daughter." I stepped away. "But now, I must be free. It's time to give the final gift, Papa. Give me up. Let me go."

He opened his mouth, ready with some retort when we heard hoofbeats thundering down the road towards us.

"What's that?" Andre asked.

My father looked up. "Beast's horse. Come to collect me." He stepped to the door. "Farewell," he said, his hand placed on the knob. He was frozen, couldn't move.

"I'm going," I said. "Good bye." But I, too, was frozen in fear.

The horse outside whinnied with impatience. I found my legs moving towards the door.

Andre leapt on me, and grabbed my arms, pinning them to my sides. "We won't let you go, Beauty!"

"That's it," my father said, "Hold her fast." He twisted the doorknob.

Phillipe and Emile grabbed him. "We won't let _you_ go!"

"Unhand me!"

"Let me go!" I cried.

Phillipe looked over at me, struggling with our eldest brother. "Hold her tight, Andre!"

My father struggled against Phillipe and Emile. "I've given my word!"

"We won't let you go!" Emile shouted, to no one in particular.

"My sacred word!" My father yelped, still fighting my brothers.

Suddenly Veronique and Marie-Clare jumped on Andre. He yelled as I twisted free from him. I ran to the door, shoved it open and hurried outside.

"Get on the horse, get on the horse!" Marie-Clare was chanting.

The horse _was_ a magnificent animal. It pranced before me, breathing heavily. I stood, entranced for just a moment.

I remembered the words my father used, to be taken home. "Take me to –" Phillipe covered my mouth with his hand. He began dragging my back inside.

"Stop, Beauty!" I bit his hand. He jumped back, shocked, and I hurried forward again. This time Emile stood before me.

"Knock 'em down!" Veronique shrieked, and she barrelled forward, crashing into Emile. I turned back to the horse.

"Take me to where –" again I was halted, my father had stopped me this time. "Beauty, –" he began, as I tried to shove past him.

My brothers joined him, creating a barrier between me and the Beast's horse.

"You won't get past us, Beauty," Andre said, heaving.

"Prepare to die!" called Veronique. She and Marie-Clare ran at my brothers and father once more, giving me time to climb somewhat awkwardly onto the animal's back.

"And never, never come back!" Marie-Clare yelled at me.

"Take me to where I must go!" I screamed to the horse. It started off, and I turned over my shoulder to call back to my family. "I'm not afraid to live my life, whatever that may bring!"

The animal carried me away, far and fast, but not before I had the last sight of my home, my sisters wrestling with my brothers on the ground, my father on his knees, calling after me, "Beauty! Beauty, what have you done?"

The horse rode onward.

I turned to face my destiny.

* * *

A/N: Now we're cooking with gas! W00t! Thus ends Act 1!

Thanks for reviews and thanks for sticking with it! Baci!

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	11. First Night

_**First Night**_

We rode through the countryside and through a huge forest. I could do nothing more than clutch at the horse's mane with my hands and grip him with my knees. He was flying along at such a rate that a fall from him would surely kill me.

Hot tears streamed down my face. I was going to face a Beast. One who would surely eat me alive, just like Veronique had said. I was terrified out of my wits at this whole situation. Still the dark horse rode on.

I kept my face buried in his mane and thought about my family. My Papa, whom I loved so dearly, how could I have any fear of going to meet this creature when it would save his life? And dear, sweet Andre, my kindest brother who kept Veronique and Marie-Clare at bay. Phillipe, who with his strong, athletic arms gave the best hugs. Emile, who could make me laugh when no one else could.

I decided I'd even miss my sisters. They were my sisters after all, they were family. At least I'd miss taunting and teasing them with my brothers. I thought of each of them in turn, and I thought of my last days with them. Why hadn't I lingered a little longer each night, staying with them, soaking in their love? I would surely never see any of them again.

I mourned my family, crying into the horse's mane. We rode for hours, night fell and I didn't know how the animal could see. I decided to just trust him.

When at last my tears ended, and my exhaustion started to sink in, the horse slowed and stopped. I slipped off his back, but when my feet hit the ground I stumbled to my knees. Before me was a massive iron gate, lit only by the light of the moon peeking through the forest. Fear washed over me again, and I choked out another sob. The gates creaked open and I scrambled to my feet, my skirts now muddy. Was this any way to meet my captor? I wanted to walk in calmly, collected and aloof. I didn't want to appear frightened or lost at all. I didn't want to seem a childish, silly girl who chose to stumble in on a pretty pony. I would be Beauty, the girl who bravely sacrificed herself for her father's life and was prepared for what may come.

I wiped away the remaining tears and stepped through the gate. It was so dark I could barely see the path, or the details my father had described so long ago. I could remember that night clearly, how wonderful it felt to have my father home after so long, and how free I felt before all of this Beast business started. I continued up the walkway with the horse beside me. I reached the front doors of the palace and as I stretched my hand forward to knock, they too swung open for me. I strode through the giant wood and metal doors, looking back over my shoulder at the horse. He gazed balefully at me, all the fight and fearsomeness he had before seemed to be gone. He turned and plodded off down a side path which probably led to the stables.

I watched him go, and when he was out of sight, the huge doors slammed shut on the outside world. I was alone.

I turned to peer into the darkness of the palace ahead. Suddenly torches along the walls lit themselves. I jumped back slightly. Magic was not something I was used to.

I appeared to be standing in a sort of atrium. The entrance hall was very large and I could see that five or six hallways led off from it. Not to mention the immense staircase that tumbled down in front of me. Torches along the staircase railing were lit, but none in the other hallways. I assumed that meant to use the stairs.

As absurd as it seemed, I followed the light. The torches led me up the staircase two flights and then down a hall to the right. I happened upon an intersection of hallways here, too, and followed the lit torches as they took me to the left this time. I hoped I'd get to where we were going soon, as fatigue washed over me and I could barely keep my eyes open. More than once, I heard whisperings and noise in the hall behind me, but when I turned to look, no one was there. And the torches behind me had gone out. I could only continue onwards and after a time I was too tired to take notice of the noises.

At last, when I was sufficiently lost, the hallway ended in a door. Praying that it wasn't simply a door that led to more hallways, I turned the knob.

The room I was standing in wasn't a cell, like I'd imagined. It was beautifully furnished, with a four poster bed in the centre. The bed was huge and looked very soft. A fire softly burned in the fireplace to the right and comfortable looking chairs were placed around the room. Several tables joined them, but I ignored the room except for the bed. That bed, which looked as soft as a cloud. . .

I stripped off my outer skirts and fell onto the bed in my shift. At least, if this was going to be my last night on earth, I could be comfortable. After all the years sleeping on a hay-stuffed mattress, this seemed like heaven. Maybe the Beast would take pity on me and eat me in my sleep. My last thoughts before I slipped into the darkness were of how this must be what sleeping on a pile of down feathers must feel like.

I awoke to sunlight on my face. I had survived the night, and I was still lying in this soft, soft bed. I looked toward the floor where I was sure I had dropped my dress last night, but my dress was gone. I sat up in bed, holding the sheets to myself. Someone had come in during the night, most surely. Someone had probably stood over me, and watched me as I slept, lying in the bed in only my shift. I glanced nervously around the room.

The curtains on the windows were flung open and light – the light that had woken me – was flooding the room. The fire was merely embers in the fireplace. On one of the largest tables, in a vase, was a rose.

Tears welled in my eyes again, it was my foolish decision to ask for a rose that had brought about this whole situation. A rose that must have been from the very same bush was sitting, much like this one, in a vase on our table at home the morning I left. I wondered if my family kept it. Perhaps it was too painful for them to do so. Perhaps they had thrown it away.

I looked around the room once more to make sure that no one else was there, then I stood and crossed over to it. It was a beautiful rose, almost identical to the one my father had brought home. The scent that wafted from it was intoxicating. It smelled of my mother's perfume.

I shoved it off the table and watched it fall to the ground. The vase didn't break, but the water spilled everywhere and the rose tumbled away. He was taunting me, I was sure of it. The Beast was teasing me, rubbing in my face my decision and my losses. I kicked the rose then threw myself into a chair nearby and began crying again.

Before I could get much further in my self pity, someone knocked on my door. I shrieked and jumped out of the chair. I hadn't thought the Beast humane enough to _knock_ on a door, but who else could it be? I looked frantically around the room, in case my clothes had been left somewhere. I couldn't see them, so I dived beneath the covers as the knocking started again.

"Come in," I squeaked, then almost laughed at myself and my terror. I cleared my throat, sat up in the bed, holding the bedclothes around me carefully, and cleared my throat. "Come in," I said, more assuredly this time. Perhaps I could talk my way into living a little longer.

The door creaked open. But it wasn't the Beast.

* * *

A/N: Ooooh, cliff hanger!

Haha, not trying to be suspenseful (much!), I really just wanted to update for you guys as quickly as possible. If I can, I'll get the next chapter up later today or tomorrow. Just typed this bad boy up quickly, so pardon my typos, should you see any. ;)

Also, I'll probably be changing the category of this story to Fairy Tales sometime soon. If you don't have a story alert on it, and just go look it up every now and then to check progress, and you can't find it in the normal place, that's where it'll be.

Thanks, guys!

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	12. First Day

_**First Day**_

It wasn't the Beast. Of this, I was sure. The creature standing before me was about my size and hardly frightening at all. It couldn't have been the monster that had scared my father so. There were no fangs, no saliva dripping from a gaping maw, no claws or matted fur. Indeed, it didn't seem to have fur. But the creature didn't have scales either, nor any skin that I had seen. I couldn't quite tell what it was covered in. It had small, bright eyes which stared at me (just as I stared at it), and then, almost as if it had forgotten something, it jumped slightly and curtsied to me.

I decided it was female. It wore a strange little outfit, a small dress with an apron and when it spoke its voice rang out in a high-pitched timbre.

"Good morning, Beauty!" it – she – trilled. Then it gasped and bowed its head, avoiding eye-contact.

I eyed it. "What are you doing?"

"Mustn't speak out of turn, miss!"

I frowned. "Miss? Who are you?"

"I am your maid!" the creature squeaked.

A maid. I scoffed inwardly. This awkward pretext of having my own servant would surely be lost when the Beast devoured me whole.

"Have you come to take me to the Beast?" I asked, proud that I had control of my voice. It didn't shake at all.

"I am your maid!" the creature repeated. Suddenly she whipped a duster out of nowhere and began dusting the furniture. The vanity in the corner coughed.

The vanity in the corner. . . coughed?

It did more than cough. "Dust me more often, for goodness' sake!" It snapped.

My mouth gaped. "What are these things?" I yelped.

The maid shrugged at me. "Furniture," she replied. The wardrobe flapped its doors at me. "Welcome, Beauty!" it cried. I stared, almost forgetting my manners. "Uh. . . Welcome. . . furniture. . ." I stammered.

The maid was at my side quickly. "Shall I comb your hair?" she asked, pulling a brush out of nowhere, just as she had done the duster.

"Oh, no, I don't think –" I began, but the maid interrupted me.

"Could do with it," she said, pulling at a few locks of my hair. She pushed me to the vanity table and shoved me down into the seat.

"Welcome, Beauty!" the table said cheerfully.

"Welcome, uh, table," I muttered, embarrassed to be speaking to furniture. Oh, if only my sisters could see me now. . .

The maid attacked my hair with a brush. "Ow!" I yelped, "Not so hard, please!"

"I am your maid!" she replied determinedly.

The brush snagged a knot, ripping several hairs from my head. "Ow!" I cried out, leaping from the chair. "Be careful!" I scolded.

The maid stared at her feet. "I'm sorry. My first day." She sounded so miserable, I felt sorry for yelling at her like that.

"Me too." I sighed and sat back down in the chair. When she put the brush to my hair once more, this time gentler. "What lovely hair you have," she told me.

I smiled. "Thank you."

"You should brush it more often."

I laughed, this was something my sisters had told me often, in their snide remarks about being a lady.

When the maid had proclaimed my hair to be satisfactory, the wardrobe swung its doors open wide, showing me the wide array of beautiful dresses within its cavity. The maid tsked at it, and the doors swung shut immediately.

The maid gave me a quick glance, then in a clear, confident voice stated, "Open!" Once again the doors opened, and the maid took a dress from within. She turned and held them out to me.

"A dress?" I asked. She nodded.

"What you expect?" she asked me. "It's a _wardrobe_."

I took the dress, running my fingers over the beautiful fabric it was made of. It was a deep, midnight blue, contrasting strongly with my skin. The effect was rather pleasant and the longer I stared at it, the more I wanted to put on the stunning garment. I traced the tiny, embroidered flowers on the fabric and ran my fingers through the many folds of the skirt.

"But, is it for me?" I wondered aloud.

"Of course!" the wardrobe cried, shocking me again.

The maid chimed in. "Beast made dress for you! Made me for you!"

The Beast had created this creature? To be my servant? What was the Beast, how could he have created such life?

"And the furniture?" I wanted to be sure, although I was fairly certain that normal furniture does not have the ability to speak. The maid nodded, her eyes trained on me. I quickly dropped my gaze, returning it to the dress.

A voice behind me piped up. "Welcome, Beauty!"

I turned. It was a screen, the kind we had in Paris, for some privacy. "Oh, welcome, screen!" I said, curtseying to it. Perhaps I was getting used to this.

The maid tripped over to the screen. "Open!" she exclaimed.

The screen opened at her command. The maid turned to me and began to push me behind it.

"Oh!" I said, realizing what she as doing. "Oh, I can manage, thank you. . ."

She shoved me behind the open screen and tugged at the dress in my hands. "I am your maid!" she repeated briskly.

I could see no use in fighting with her. I let her strip my shift off and pull the dress over my head. There were buttons closing the back, but I could not reach them.

"Could you do the buttons?" I asked.

"I am your maid!" she replied cheerfully. Her nimble fingers pinched my skin as they scrabbled at the buttons.

"Ow! Be careful!"

"Stay still!" she said placing her hands on my shoulders.

"Welcome, Beauty," a new voice called out. Will these welcomes never cease? I wondered briefly. The voice, another female one, was deep and rich. It was smooth, like velvet. Curious, I peeked my head over the screen.

A woman, dressed in a dark dress and heavy cloak stood in my room. She looked familiar somehow, but I could not place her.

"Who are you?" I ventured.

She smiled briefly at me, a warm smile that disappeared quickly. I wished to see it again. . .

"I am the witch," she answered, as if that explained everything.

"Have _you_ come to take me to the Beast?" I asked.

Again, the brief smile. "I will be your guide and tutor in the palace. Here you will live a life of work and order. You will rise each morning at six, I will visit you for meditation and blessing, the rest of your day will be divided equally between study and palace exploration."

I felt quite like the simple farm girl I was. "What's meditation?"

"Listening to the words that grow out of silence."

She pointed to a chair by the fireplace. "Sit. I will bring down the light."

The lights dimmed as I lowered myself into the chair. I shut my eyes, feeling rather foolish, and sat quite still and quite quiet. And as I sat, I thought.

I thought of my family, of the love and comfort of the life I had left. I thought of my journey to the palace, and the terms to which I had come. I thought briefly of Francois, and how I wouldn't be faced with threats like that anymore. Then I thought of the still-unknown Beast, and wondered of the things he would do when I met him. I wondered if he would hurt me, and suddenly I was flooded with fear. Silent tears trickled down my cheeks and I gasped at the pain in my heart. I clamped down on the fear, confusion and the pain, holding it in place, and not allowing it to spread further.

I thought of my father, his weary embrace, holding me close to him. I thought of my mother, of her warm, welcoming arms and her soft scent. And the fear lifted.

I opened my eyes. "I feel. . . full of light," I said aloud.

The witch looked at me. "All beings contain the light. It is hidden, inside. It must be revealed. This is my work."

Behind me, the door creaked open again. I whipped around, but again the Beast had not made an appearance.

It was another creature, not unlike my maid, but more gangly and twitchy. I thought back to my father's tale and gasped. "You're the Beast's henchman! My father met you!" I drew back in slight fear. The furniture, too, seemed to draw back, away from it.

It reached within its robes and pulled out an envelope. It spoke to me in its gravelly, hissing voice, "From the massster. . ." I took the envelope.

The henchman drew close to my maid, leering at her. She glanced away, then back again almost flirtatiously.

"Who are you?" the henchman asked her.

"Beauty's maid."

"Question is, are you made for me?" the henchman said, then produced a sort of coughing sound, which I realized was a chuckle. He continued, speaking to my maid solely now. "Let'ss meet later, jussst the two. . ."

I turned my attention to the envelope. I read its contents, then looked up at the witch. "The Beast wants me to join him for supper, at eight o'clock."

The henchman turned toward me. "Anssswer?"

"Tell him. . ." I swallowed. I would have to meet him sooner or later. "Tell him I accept."

* * *

A/N: I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I've been busy, I have exams coming up, but that's really not an excuse for a chapter posted so late after I promised, is it?

It's been suggested to me that I look for a Beta Reader. Is anyone willing to offer their services as such? If so, please contact me.

Thank you for sticking with it.

Baci!

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	13. The Room of Mirrors

**_The Room of Mirrors_**

With the Beast's henchman gone (and my maid staring wistfully after him) to take my reply to his master, I was now free to explore the castle at my will. Or, not completely at my will and freedom, as the witch seemed to want to stay rather close by me. I had the feeling that she was almost a sort of spy for my captor, then I realized, of course, everyone in the castle would be reporting to him. Of course she was a spy. As would be my maid, the henchman, and my strange, talking furniture. I resigned myself to a life that no longer held the great luxury of privacy.

I sank into a couch by the fireplace, staring desolately into the embers in the grate. The witch surveyed me.

"What are you doing, Beauty? What are you thinking of?"

I smiled grimly. "I'm wallowing in self-pity, I am," I replied.

"Would you not like to see your home?"

_Home._ I laughed inwardly. This could never be home. Especially if the Beast was going to eat me at eight o'clock tonight. The witch took my sour silence as an answer.

"Beauty," she began in a commanding voice, "you are not going to sit here like a useless little doll."

I glanced up at her. "Fine. What do _you_ suggest I do?" I was almost surprised at the amount of bitterness in my voice. She was not the one responsible for my predicament, and yet. . .

The witch, however, smiled at me. "I recommend the Room of Mirrors," she said mysteriously.

My curiosity got the better of me. "What's that?"

"Big room? Lots of mirrors?" my maid suggested unhelpfully.

"Well, how do we get there?" I asked, rising from my seat.

The witch stepped toward me, taking my arm. "Close your eyes," she said in her mysterious, ethereal voice.

I did as she said, feeling rather foolish. She gripped my arm rather tightly and began to chant, "_To the East of the sun, to the West of the moon, carry us to our chosen room!_"

The chant picked up, seeming to be echoed by a hundred more voices. The floor beneath my feet swayed suddenly, tipped, jerking from side to side. I reached out and grabbed onto the witch's arm as tightly as she held mine. The air around me swirled quickly, picking up my hair and flicking it all around. More than once did I feel the stinging of it as it struck my face, and I vowed if I survived this strange sensation to crop it short. I kept my eyes tightly sealed, afraid of what was happening around me. I couldn't hear much above the chanting, but a raw feeling in my throat told me that I was yelling.

Suddenly it all stopped. Everything was still, very still and silent. The floor was solid once again, my hair lay gently against my shoulders and back, and the witch relinquished her grip on me. I, too, let go of her arm, regretting this decision as I did so. My knees gave out and I fell, rather ungracefully, to the floor. My eyes were still clamped shut.

"Are we done?" I ventured, once I was sure my stomach had stopped pitching.

The witch chuckled not unkindly above me. "The Room of Mirrors!" she said, in a welcoming sort of way.

I blinked once, then stared discourteously at my surroundings.

I was sitting in the center of a vast room. I was sure my father hadn't had the chance to see this room while he was in the castle, for he would have surely told us in great detail about it. Every surface seemed to be covered in a reflective glass of some sort, although I was sure that it was not all mirror. I had never seen mirrors in such an array of colors, either. A soft glow, appearing to come from the room itself, was reflecting, bouncing across the walls and ceiling, giving a sort of sparkling, glittering effect to the magnificent room.

Although the walls and ceilings were covered with mirrors, I could not always see myself in them. This was of a certain relief to me, I would have found it rather disconcerting to be looking at thousands of copies of myself contained in a single room. My dress, however, was reflected in many of the mirrors, the deep, beautiful blue catching and showing in brief spots all over the room. I couldn't have _dreamed_ of something so wonderful and marvelous and beautiful as this room.

My instant displeasure at the means of travel within the castle was immediately forgotten as I stood and turned in a slow circle, admiring the ever-shifting light.

"This is beautiful," I murmured, almost unaware of myself. The witch stood back a few paces, watching me closely. She suddenly snapped her fingers and the mirrors themselves began to move.

It was not in a dizzying way, as one would expect, but more of a slow dance as if the mirrors on the walls were courtesans, performing before a royal monarch. I watched delightedly as the mirrors, silently, made their ways around the room, ever shifting, ever changing. As one mirror would swirl carefully around another mirror, a different mirror would move forward to take its place. The effect was purely magical as the light bounced and reflected off the changing mirrors. The witch snapped her fingers again and the mirrors, after one last rotation, slowed to a stand-still.

"Did the Beast make this place?" I asked.

The witch watched me carefully. "Yes," she replied slowly.

I continued to gaze in wonder at the now motionless mirrors. How could something so terrible and frightening as the Beast have created such beauty? I did not understand it. As I opened my mouth to ask this of the witch, she took hold of my wrist again.

"Come, Beauty," she said as she took me to a corner, where a few of the largest mirrors rested. "What do you see?"

I hesitated before looking into the mirror before me. I could see myself, but there was something different about me. . . I looked slightly fuzzy around the edges, I could not see the image properly. The figure in the mirror gazed back calmly at me.

"What do you see?" the witch asked me again.

"I see. . . me," I said slowly, "but at the same time. . . I can't. . . quite. . ." As I strained to look at the image, it suddenly darkened, and the mirror version of myself swirled into a deep fury, seeming to cry out and clutch at her heart. At the same time, a swift pain in my chest welled up and I gasped. I was flooded with memories of my mother dying, my father's sad expression as he cried after me on the Beast's horse, my brothers pained faces, my terrifying escape to the castle -

"Breathe, Beauty!" a voice above me cried out as I sank to my knees, my head in my hands. "Think, breathe, think of the light!"

I shut down on the feelings of misery and forced them from my mind. _The light,_ I told myself, _the light._

The witch was kneeling beside me. I looked up at her, gasping for breath as the last of the pained memories rushed away. "What was that?"

She frowned. "The Mirror of Hearts," she said simply. "It shows what is deepest in your heart."

I did not understand this, how could a _mirror_ have such a great effect on me? I stood shakily, wanting to get away from the mirror and turned.

Something that wasn't quite the reflection of light from the mirrors glinted at me from the opposite corner.

"What is that?" I asked the witch, nodding towards the glint. She gestured for me to go to it, and with a nervous glance back at the Mirror of Hearts, I crossed to it.

It was a locket. I picked it up. "Should I – " I began, but was interrupted by the witch.

"We must go now, Beauty." She grabbed my arm again, and this time I was prepared for the awful sensation of the traveling and closed my eyes again.

She had taken me back to my room. I hadn't really understood the purpose of the trip to the Room of Mirrors, and I was certain there was one, but I wasn't ready to ask such things of the witch. I sat on my bed, gazing curiously at the locket when the maid burst back into my room, giggling. Right behind her was the Beast's henchman.

I stared at them suspiciously. "Where have you two been?"

My maid giggled. The henchman grinned and answered for her. "Exploring."

I looked at the pair of them. My maid was still tittering but avoiding eye contact, so I let it go.

"Look at this," I said, holding up the locket for her to see.

"Lovely locket! What's inside?" she asked.

I prised it open. "An inscription. . ." I said, squinting to get a better look.

_See with more than your eyes._

I looked at my maid, who was still giggling and flirting with the henchman, then to the witch. "What does it mean?"

Before she could answer, the clock chimed eight times.

"It's eight o'clock," the witch said.

Somewhere, deep within the castle, a rumbling voice called my name.

I was finally going to meet the Beast.

* * *

A/N: Apologies, apologies! I'm so so sorry! I know I took a super long time to update, but I had final exams, and then I went to Hungary and then I had my tonsils removed and have been recovering. I haven't had TIME to work on this! Sorry, I've kept Beauty from meeting the Beast for thirteen chapters, but I absolutely guarantee that they will finally come face to face next chapter. Which I will hopefully update soon.

Thanks to Night-Fury1 for giving me the wake-up call I needed.

Thanks to everyone who keeps on reading!

Again, my offer stands to anyone who would like to Beta-Read for this story, please contact me via review or personal message. Apparently, I really need one.

Baci!

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	14. Eight O'Clock

_**Eight O'Clock**_

The witch walked me quickly along the corridors to another enormous room. A long table, laden with food and drink, stood in the center. I stepped into the room, and the witch shut the door behind me.

There was no Beast to be seen.

I walked to the table, finding it curious that if the Beast should want to eat me, it would carry such foods that I had only heard about from my sisters' tales of nobility. Such delicacies as snail and souffles were on the table, along with some fine wines. I dipped my finger into some sauce and licked it. It was delicious.

"Beauty," came a slow, rumbling voice behind me. The Beast must have entered the room. I let my finger drop to my side.

"Good evening," I said, before turning around to see this monster for the first time. I stifled a gasp. The creature looked even more frightening than my father had described. And its eyes, bright blue, too different from the rest of his features, almost _human_. . . My father was right. Those eyes were the most frightening thing about him.

The Beast approached me first on the two back paws, then lowering itself to all fours, where it was more my height. It glared unblinkingly at me. I forced myself to keeping looking at it, with what was hopefully a defiant expression on my face. But the huge head lunged forward, and I couldn't help myself as I flinched. Those bright blue eyes narrowed as the snout sniffed at me. I turned my head from the stench flowing from its jaw.

The Beast kept sniffing. It stalked around me, sniffing at my dress, my hair, my hands. Finally I decided I'd had enough of this waiting. Was the Beast going to waste more time? Couldn't it just eat me now?

"I don't like this, Beast!" I said sharply. The Beast jerked back, as if surprised I was more than just a pretty face. I pursed my lips and continued, "It's rude and. . . and I'd like you to stop. Please."

The Beast blinked, then snorted. It turned, stood on its back paws and walked to the chair placed at the head of the table. Settling itself in the chair, it continued to stare at me. "Beau. . . ti. . . ful," it growled.

I felt a slight rise in my cheeks. "Thank you." It would not do to upset such a creature with a lack of manners.

The Beast gestured to the chair opposite him. I took my place.

A large soup tureen floated over to the Beast and poured some of its contents into a bowl before the Beast.

I couldn't help myself. "How did that happen?" The question burst from my lips before I could remember to check my thoughts.

The Beast grunted. "Magic. Table." It turned its attention back to the soup and began slurping noisily. Before long one hairy paw darted out to grab a piece of meat from a platter. The chewing and cracking of the Beast's feast suddenly made me nauseous. I pushed my chair back slightly.

The Beast looked up at me. "What," it asked in its gravelly, growling voice.

"Oh, nothing. Enjoy. . . your soup."

It grunted again. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Why?"

I shook my head, silent. The Beast continued to stared unashamedly at me. I swallowed hard and griped the arms of my chair. "My mouth is dry. . . My hands are shaking, I feel sick to my stomach." I laughed sourly. "I don't think I could manage a mouthful."

The Beast wiped its paws on the tablecloth and leaned back, surveying me. "Frightened?"

"I think it would be fair to say that I'm absolutely terrified."

An almost quizzical expression crossed its face. "Why?"

I shut my eyes briefly, steeling myself. "I'm having. . . dinner with a. . ." I wasn't sure what to call him. "With a. . . creature who threatened to eat my father and may at any moment choose to eat me."

"No eat."

What? What had it said?

I coughed slightly. "You're. . . not going to eat me?" Were my tones too hopeful? I couldn't tell. And was it my imagination, or did the Beast look slightly aghast?

"Never. Not eat. . . people." I frowned at this statement.

"Then why did you threaten to eat my father?" No reply. "It's a simple question. Answer me!" The Beast growled menacingly. But I couldn't take it. "Why did you threaten to eat my father!"

"Because! Beast. . . Because must!"

I snorted with indignation. "That doesn't get us very far, does it? You know, I've had enough of this, Beast."

The Beast stood up from his chair and roared. I found, with the anger bristling inside me, that I was not frightened at this. I was livid.

"You may roar as much as you like, when I've finished speaking, until then I trust you will do me the courtesy of listening! You have terrorized my family, Beast, made all our lives a misery. You threaten to kill my father, for the minor offense of stealing a rose, –" The Beast roared, but I continued over him, following its suit and standing. "And then you leave me with little choice but to come here and live as a prisoner in your palace!" It roared again.

"And you invite me to supper!" I scoffed, not trembling with fear but rage, "As if I had any choice, Beast! What would have happened if I'd refused? Would the witch have cast a spell on me? Or perhaps your henchman would have tied me up and dragged me here."

Another, window-rattling roar, but I was too far gone to care. "You are a tyrant, Beast! Nothing more than a playground bully."

Its loudest roar yet, but it had still not taken a chunk out of me. I took this as a good sign.

"SPEAK WITH WORDS," I roared back at it. I was fed up with its incessant roaring, especially when I knew it could speak my language.

It opened its mouth to roar again, but blinked at me instead. With a frustrated look in its eye, it shuffled restlessly. "Not want hurt."

I sensed it was not yet done speaking and held my tongue.

"Want. . . friend."

I found this idea quite absurd. "Oh? Well, you certainly have a strange way of making friends," I said scathingly.

The Beast collapsed back into its chair. "I am a fool," it growled miserably.

A new feeling rose up in me, replacing the anger. I didn't like it, but I was feeling pity for this wretched creature. "No," I sighed, sinking back into my own chair, "You are not a fool, Beast."

The Beast grunted.

"The world is full of men who claim to be wise but who act like fools," I said sagely. "If at times you behave in a foolish manner, then at least you have the good sense to recognize your folly."

There was no reply but another growl. I could feel my annoyance at him returning. "You can't just resort to making these inarticulate noises. If you wish to be friends, we must exchange words. This roaring strikes me as plain bad manners and I wish you'd stop." I almost felt as thought I was talking to a small child. It roared at me again, scrambling out of its chair and hunching over.

"Well, I hope you're not succumbing to self-pity about. . ." How do you tell a Beast that its predicament is an abomination? That a creature such as it shouldn't exist, that it must have been a mistake? I left the sentence undone and tried to start over. "Self-pity is most unattractive. . ." Now I sounded like Veronique. . . "And most unproductive!" Where was I going with this again?

I frowned, watching the Beast. We sat in silence for a while. I thought of the events of the day so far and a new thought struck me. I looked at the Beast curiously and cautioned, "Where is he, Beast? The kind and gentle man, who made me a beautiful dress, and created this wondrous palace?"

The Beast grunted. Well, if the Beast wasn't going to be cooperative. . . "Answer, Beast, or I shall be forced to withdraw from this sumptuous feast and return to my room!"

That seemed to have some effect. The Beast stood on its hind legs again and paced slowly over to me. As it took my hand gently between its two massive paws, I fought to keep from flinching. Those blue eyes lifted to meet my own.

"No words," it rumbled, "To speak. . . my. . . heart."

I stood, looking deep into its eyes, confused at its meaning. Suddenly he broke contact and dropped my hand, turning away. "Bumbling! Words!"

Its conversational style was unconventional, but. . . I stepped toward the Beast and reached out to stroke some of the matted fur. "Many men employ clever words and elaborate sentences to cover up vile intentions." I thought briefly of Francois, and how this Beast had so far refrained from attacking me when Francois was the human and 'civil' one of the pair. "Your words, Beast, suggest an open, honest heart." I gestured to the table. "Come, sit down, and please don't upset yourself with the thought that I think less of you for the way you talk. Let's have no more roaring and growling in the middle of supper!"

The Beast turned to me again. I could not see where from but he produced a rose and held it out to me. "For you." I blinked, and took the rose, inhaling its luxurious scent.

"Your roses are so perfect," I murmured.

"Rose garden. First thing I make. Here."

I nodded.

The Beast pulled out my chair. "Sit?"

So it did have manners. "Thank you," I said graciously.

The Beast padded back to its own chair. Settling itself comfortably, it gazed at me again. I attempted a small smile.

"Eat?" the Beast asked.

I chuckled slightly. "Yes, please, I'm starving! I think I'd like some soup."

* * *

A/N: So, the first half to the oh-so-important dinner scene! Yay! Beauty AND the Beast!

Second half of it will be up soon, sorry I had to split the chapter, it was just sooooo long!

Thank you for sticking with it!

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


	15. Proposal

**_Proposal_**

The soup poured itself into my bowl just as it had done to the Beast's. Conscious of the Beast's gaze on me, I dipped my spoon into the soup and took a small sip.

It was delicious. I had never tasted anything quite like it. It was sweet, but not too sweet, nor too salty, nor too sour, not too much of anything. I couldn't put my finger on the flavor, but at the moment I didn't care, just as long as the soup was going into my mouth. I wanted more.

"Good?" the Beast asked.

I gasped. "Too good to eat with a silly spoon!" I tossed my spoon aside and lifted the bowl to my lips.

"Enjoy?" asked my dinner companion.

"The best!" I laughed, slurping noisily at my soup. When the bowl was drained, the Beast gestured towards the tureen again.

"More?"

I considered this. The soup _was_ amazing. But perhaps the other foods on the table might be of the same quality. . .

"No," I said, "I want some of that roast beef!"

"Beef," commanded the Beast, and the platter made its way over to my plate, then the Beast's, filling both with its contents.

"Let's eat!" I said, eager to try the new delicacy. I picked up the meat with my hands and bit in. Between bites I asked, "Good?"

"Yeah!" the Beast replied, "Beef!"

The meat was devoured within a few minutes. Now that I understood I was not going to be eaten, my ravenous appetite had returned.

"Did you prepare this meal, Beast?" I asked softly, "And make this table, and the magical rooms and the servants and furniture?"

It nodded. "For you."

Some more platters crossed to my plate and filled it with food. The Beast ate with much gusto. "Happy. Now," it – no – _he _(for some reason I could now think of him as more than just a Beast) told me.

I ate my fill and was done long before the Beast had finished. While he ate, I considered him. He was a riddle, two entities in the same skin, a gentleman and a primitive creature. The gentleman must be ashamed of the animal, and the animal confused by the gent. It must be a terribly confusing existence. Again, I felt strange pity well up inside me. Perhaps the Beast lived in awful pain. Perhaps he suffered deeply.

As if he could sense my thoughts, the Beast looked up at me. "How about some dessert?" I asked, smiling warmly at him.

He gestured to a covered dish by me. "In here?" I asked. He nodded, and I lifted the lid. It was full to the brim with bright red strawberries.

"Close," the Beast rumbled.

I closed the lid then opened it again. Inside the bowl was now full with figs. I gasped and quickly shut the lid again. As I lifted the lid once more, I could see now pomegranates in the dish.

"A self-replenishing fruit dish!" I exclaimed. "How wonderful! What would you prefer?"

"Strawberries. With cream."

A smaller dish of cream appeared next to the fruit dish. We both took some. The strawberries were the freshest I had ever tasted.

"Why did you ask me to come here, Beast?" I wanted to hear the answer, the reason, from the creature's own mouth.

He looked sharply up at me. "To be. To be. . . my bride."

I nodded slowly. "I have known of your intentions towards me in this respect for some time, Beast, and I have considered your proposal deeply."

"And?"

"I believe that any marriage brought about through force or fear could never be happy," I said softly, staring at my plate.

"And. . .?"

I took a deep breath. "I think that marriage should be entering into by two souls who share a deep respect, two souls who are blessed with a profound natural attraction, one for the other. . ."

"And. . ."

I finally looked up to meet his eyes. "I will only marry you when I can put my hand on my heart and know that it is full of love and joy." If that day would ever come, which I doubted. "If that day comes, I will consent to be your wife. . . and if it never comes, then you may torture me in your darkest dungeon or threaten me with imminent death, but I will never marry you." I held my breath.

The Beast studied me for a time. Finally he nodded. "No words, til then."

"No words, until then," I repeated. I was suddenly aware of how dry my mouth was. "I shall need a glass of water. . ." My goblet was full of drink suddenly. After I drained it, I stretched in a very large and unladylike yawn. The Beast stared at me.

_Manners!_ I told myself sharply. "I've had a long day," I offered by way of apology.

The Beast stood from his chair and made his way over to me. He helped me out of the chair and led me away from the table. Minutes later, it disappeared.

Wordlessly, we walked back to my room, arm in arm, just as the courtesans of the palace at Versailles would do. He really was a strange creature, this Beast. I looked up at him occasionally to find his blue eyes flicking every so often down at me. It was strange to walk beside this enormous beast, now acting quite civilized. I didn't feel threatened at all.

We reached my door and stopped. He turned to face me.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"Tomorrow?" the Beast asked.

I found myself smiling. "Let's meet tomorrow! I have enjoyed our supper."

Again, he produced a rose from nowhere. He offered it to me, and I took it sniffing it delicately.

"You, beau. . . ti. . . ful," he said slowly. I blushed furiously.

"Good night, Beast."

"Good night, Beauty." He turned and padded off down the hall into the darkness. I stood for a while, staring after him, thinking the night over. Finally I opened my door and stepped into my room.

The maid helped me step out of my dress and into my nightgown, a lovely, embroidered garment. As I was stepping out from behind the screen, I heard a knock on the door and looked up quickly, wondering if the Beast had come back.

It was the witch. "Good evening, Beauty!"

"Good evening, witch," I replied.

"How was supper?"

"Oh, the food was delicious!" The witch narrowed her eyes at me.

"And the conversation?"

I hesitated. Did I really want to share all that had happened tonight? I wasn't sure. But perhaps the witch already knew. "It improved dramatically, after a tricky start," I said. The witch nodded, so I continued. "He's such a fascinating creature. . . I've never met anyone quite like him."

"He is. . . unique," the witch commented.

"We're going to meet, tomorrow evening, for supper again," I told her.

"I see."

"I'm not sure I've got much left to say to him, though. . ." I trailed off thoughtfully. We had covered a lot this evening, but what would the next bring?

"Be silent and sincere. The words will come," the witch said.

"Why is silence so important to you?" I asked, frowning.

"Everything comes out of silence."

I climbed into my large, soft bed. Only twenty four hours ago, I had collapsed in the same bed, after leaving my family and my life forever. Everything was so different now. I was certain that I was going to be eaten before, but now. . . Now, I didn't know what tomorrow would bring.

"Today, I feel. . ." I yawned, then continued. "I feel I have changed so much."

The witch dimmed the lamps. "You must prepare for great leaps and discoveries in the palace. Good night, Beauty."

"Good night." The witch left and my maid pulled the covers up under my chin.

"Good night, mistress!" she squeaked, then retreated to the corner.

"Good night, maid." This palace was full of never ending salutations. I turned over in my soft, warm bed and closed my eyes.

* * *

A/N: sorry it's late.

Thanks for reading.

~HealthyShadeOfGreen


End file.
